Here's what grad is school is like sometimes (an excerpt):
Every so often, comfort food and Bud Light Lime is free, maybe even Bud Light Wheat. We first years gather, look around the place, wondering what we're doing here, what we'll do here, excited. Then the chair of the program introduces you to someone important, the lead editor at a magazine where you want to work. Then you make a face like Brad Pitt when George Clooney discovers him hiding in the closet in Burn After Reading. Later, you talk about how, yeah, sure, I guess Spice World is the Hard Day's Night of our time. Proust comes up too, if you're lucky. You look around the room, at those of us sitting somewhere between the lip of the table and the edge of our seat, hovering, and you think, if this were soccer camp, we'd all be wearing our shin guards, always. (by sometimes, I mean two nights ago at dinner, and by excerpt I mean as much as I could think to gather around that oh so perfect spoiler [alert!])
Vito Acconci.
Parts of a good essay.
Josquin de Perez.
Don't miss it.
"Robert Frost had exactly five poems accepted in the first seventeen years in which he was submitting."
David Markson's last novel, The Last Novel.
Something we talked about long distance.
What I appreciate is how appreciative they all are.
Vanishing Point -
Markson, Monson, Sharatt, Muller, Tofel, Roessner, Gieson, Cole, Bonners, Pendelton, Hawes, West, Plunkett, Mitchell, Lummis, Flower, Canning, Tabucchi, Parks, Fredericksen, Wentworth, Dahl, Cheevers, Smith, John, Masters, Meek, Desai, Dawson, Cerasini, Birgfeld, Freeman, Hornig, Wheeler, Chadd, Nikolaides, Leatham, Beck, Plowden, Baglio, Mitchell, Flagg, et al.
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